One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping
by Dreams of Disaster
Summary: The Mirror of the Erised is not just a mirror. It is an anchor that spans through the fabric of time and space itself. With Harry's mind trapped in another time and his body comatose at Hogwarts, can he fight his way through the unforgiving world and find an unexpected love at the same time?
1. Mirror Mirror

A/N: Something I cooked up when I was supposed to be doing math homework *looks guilty*. I hope this makes up for it...

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own J.K. Rowling or any of her fantastic creations like Snape, Voldemort, Lily Potter, etc. I don't earn money from writing fanfiction. I wish I did - when my counselor asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up, I could say "fanfic writer"!

Well, yeah. Enough of my rambling. Just enjoy...

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**Mirror Mirror**

Harry crept into the nearest doorway as he heard Filch and Snape forge an unexpected alliance, and not for the first time felt grateful that he was - by all rights and purposes - invisible. When the door was securely closed behind him, he allowed himself to breathe again, then immediately surveyed his surroundings.

By some luck of the gods above (if they even existed), he had not entered the third floor room that was forbidden and out of bounds to students. This room was mainly empty and dust infested. But there was an object in the corner that first caught Harry's eyes - a tall, gold-rimmed mirror that had strange words inscribed upon it:

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

Harry shook his head in confusion. He knew he had glasses, but that didn't mean he was dyslexic. Breathing in deeply, he moved in front of the mirror, expecting to see himself - albeit slightly disheveled after the close call in the Library.

But it was not his untidy mop of black hair, his thin, bony body, his trademark knobbly knees, and his bright emerald eyes that stared back at him. For a moment, Harry was startled, and then blinked again. The boy in front of him, inside the mirror, looked very like him except for a few key differences. Instead of a wild, untamed head of hair, Harry noted that the boy had smooth waves and curls that made him look like one of the models in Aunt Petunia's gossip magazines. His eyes were a vibrant crimson red, and his high, sharp cheekbones were a stark contrast to Harry's more delicate features that were softened by remaining baby fat.

Slowly, the Boy-Who-Lived derived the only possible conclusion - this was no ordinary mirror. Frowning, he stared back at the reflection and started. The reflection-boy was crooking his index finger, slowly beckoning him. "_Don't talk to strangers, you little freak, you'll contaminate them._" was the first lesson Uncle Vernon had taught Harry with the aid of his belt, so Harry reluctantly grumbled with dry sarcasm, "Sorry, I can't come over to you. Uncle Vernon says I'm a freak and I'll probably hurt you, too. Just like how I broke the right arm of dear Duddykins even though he was about fifteen feet away from me."

Then, Harry sat down and simply stared at the reflection again. The reflection seemed to have given up on getting Harry to come nearer, and so plopped down on the ground and assumed the Lotus position. Moments later, he seemed dead to the world, but Harry still didn't move to get up, though his old watch (a cast-off from Dudley) glowed with the electronic numerals "3:30". There was something peaceful and calming to watching reflection-boy meditate. In fact, Harry was so absorbed in thought that he paid no heed to the door creaking ever-so-slightly open and the distinct shimmer of a Disillusionment charm glint against the back wall.

"How are you, Harry, my boy?" a kind, grandfatherly voice intruded. Harry jumped up immediately, both surprised and embarrassed at being caught.

"He-he-llo, Headma-a-a-ster Dumbledore. I'm, um, ... fine," Harry stuttered. _At this rate_, he thought snidely, having regained his wits again, _he might as well impersonate Quirrel and take the Defense Against the Dark Arts post for the rest of the year_. Quirrel stumbled over his words _and_ was incredibly stupid in Harry's opinion - even a first-year could teach better than that. Though Harry was sure that with this stuttering episode, he may as well give even Quirrel a run for his money.

"So I see you have discovered the Mirror of the Erised," Dumbledore continued, his serene expression indicating that he had either missed the guilty look on Harry's face, or that he had tactfully chosen to overlook it.

"Is that what it's called?" Harry asked, curious. "Anyways, what do those strange words say?" he questioned, gesturing widely at the inscription on the top. "Are they even in English?"

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," Dumbledore smiled wistfully as he stared into the mirror, and Harry was tempted to ask what he saw himself in there. "Can you tell me what that means, Harry?" he said suddenly, focusing on his young companion again.

"It shows what you want...whatever you want the most in the world?" Harry said, unsure if his answer was satisfactory.

"Close enough," Dumbledore replied, clasping his hands loosely behind the back of his garish colored robes. "The Mirror of the Erised is a unique mirror - one of its kind. It had a twin once, long ago. The Mirror of Noisluper showed those who looked into it what they hated most - their dislikes, bad memories, even fears - and couldn't seem to get rid of. On the other hand..."

"...the Mirror of the Erised shows something you want desperately but can never have," Harry finished excitedly. "But what happened to the Mirror of Noisluper?"

"It disappeared several centuries ago, as I'm sure you have heard in a History of Magic," Dumbledore smiled benignly, eyes twinkling merrily behind his glasses.

"But Binns teaches History of Magic," Harry near-whined. "No one pays attention in his class. I've seen even Hermione fall asleep there."

"Ah, Miss Granger. A very intelligent young woman. But have you ever thought, Harry," Dumbledore paused maddeningly, "that Professor Binns perhaps waits until you all succumb to slumber before speaking about the most interesting facets of Magical History, the things that truly matter?"

Harry merely stared back disbelievingly before asking, "What do you see in the mirror? Do you see a boy?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, each person has different wants and desires; thus, each person's vision must be different. Do you see yourself?"

"Look, see, I mean the boy right there," Harry's brows knitted together in thought before he turned reflexively towards the mirror. Deep red eyes sparkled at him and grew into a fire that got bigger and bigger until it surrounded Harry. The heat burned him and blistered him and the inferno was threatening to overwhelm his huddled body...

Then there was only the welcome darkness of oblivion.

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A/N: Sorry to leave you hanging, but hope you liked it! Constructive criticism and comments are welcome! Thanks for reading. Please review!

~Dreams of Disaster


	2. In Another World

A/N: Hi again! Hopefully, this is as good, if not better than the previous chapter. Again, I'm churning this out while doing English homework - has anyone heard of the Mysteries of Harris Burdick? Our assignment is to write a story about one of his pictures - mine is Mr. Linden's Library. "He had told her about the book. Now it was too late." Ominous, isn't it?

Now I'm rambling, as usual. Please, please, please Read and Review!

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Harry groaned as he sat up woozily. A strange whiteness surrounded him, and for a moment, he wondered if he was dead. _Not that I'm disappointed_, he reflected, _but it would have been better if I'd been able to say goodbye to Ron. And maybe Hermione. She might not be the most fun person to be around, and I still don't know her too well, but she's a good person at heart. I know she is. I wonder what they'll say at my funeral._

Harry nearly laughed at the mental image of Ron in a tuxedo and Hermione next to him, in a black dress, both wearing solemn expressions. It wasn't that funny on Hermione, but Ron and somber just didn't go together in the same sentence.

A sharp voice sliced through his thoughts abruptly, causing him to thrash on his bed (?) wildly and try to turn to the source of the sound.

"You are such a drama queen." a dark haired boy about Harry's age sneered. "Like you don't have enough attention already."

Harry chewed his lower lip nervously after listening silently to the boy's furious tirade. Normally, he would have burst out just as angrily with an ineffective response, like "I'm not a drama queen!", which didn't achieve anything at all. But this boy scared him, made him feel edgy, watchful, and abnormally alert in his presence.

He reminded him of... Dudley (No, not really. Dudley was an arrogant, spoiled brat, but he wasn't _frightening_.)... Uncle Vernon (He might have been frightening, but he was mainly a blustery, pompous man with empty threats.)... ah, Snape.

"Who are you?" the boy in question asked, eyes narrowed. Harry looked away from his eyes quickly, noticing that they had been staring at each other for far too long.

"Who are _you_? And how am I a drama queen?" Harry countered.

The mysterious boy's electric blue eyes narrowed further, and turned away slightly as though wracked by an internal debate. Finally, he seemed to win the battle - or lose it simultaneously, and said, "My name is Tom Riddle," he drawled. "And you can't seriously tell me you've forgotten _everything_." The last was said with another demeaning sneer, and Harry frowned, but felt that courtesy was required in even the most infuriating situations.

"I am -," he started.

"... Harry Potter," Tom said, staring at him unnervingly. Harry flinched from the force of the gaze, and Tom's lip curled upward. He then turned his back on him as though Harry was not even worth his attention. For a moment, Harry saw red, and fumbled for his wand in his robes. He would show Tom who was better...

"Mr. Potter," a man with long, auburn hair and twinkling blue eyes interrupted. He swept into the room gracefully and sat down quickly on a wooden chair by Harry's bedside.

"I am Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore," the wizard said, eyes still twinkling. Harry nearly slapped himself in frustration - he knew those eyes from somewhere but never thought to connect them with the Headmaster! Then, his eyes widened in surprise. Headmaster Dumbledore, for the first time ever, was not wearing his ugly, garish robes. Instead, he had donned a Muggle suit and pants, which made him look... strange, in Harry's opinion. Why, he was even wearing a tie!

"Wait, Deputy Headmaster?" Harry asked, his brain catching up with the spoken words.

Tom snorted. "I told you he was a bit thick, Professor. Remember when he first - "

"Enough, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore cut in coldly. "It is not acceptable for a Hogwarts student to insult a new arrival, especially when he does not know what is going on. You will have detention with Filch after school on Thursday."

Tom growled and made to leave the room, but Dumbledore added serenely, "You were the one who found him, Tom. It is your responsibility to make sure that he knows where to go, especially when he may be attending Hogwarts."

Tom sat down again, after much reluctance and foot-shuffling.

Finally, Dumbledore looked back at Harry with a small smile. "Yes, I am the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts Secondary School. Have you heard of it?"

Hearing this, Harry began laughing hysterically. Things were so strange and warped here. How had no one recognized him yet? And why was Dumbledore not the Headmaster? And what on earth was Hogwarts Secondary School?

"Yes, I went to Hogwarts. I mean, I am going to Hogwarts. I am a student there. Where am I?" Harry questioned.

"You don't go to Hogwarts," the Deputy Headmaster furrowed his brow. "I would have seen you there, my boy."

"And I would have seen you, too," Tom interjected, studying Harry with that careful intensity again.

"Headmaster, I was just talking to you," Harry said desperately, glancing at Dumbledore for any sign of recognition. Nothing flickered in the depths of those blue, blue eyes. "The Mirror of the Erised. Remember, you said that it had a twin, the Mirror of Noisluper..."

Harry trailed off. Both Tom and the Headmaster - _the Deputy Headmaster_ - were looking at him as though they were debating whether or not he should be confined to a mental asylum.

"Professor, I am worried for his mental stability," Tom said calmly, darting disgusted looks at Harry intermittently. "It is clear that this boy is delusional and does not know what he is talking about."

Dumbledore merely glanced at Harry anxiously. "Harry, you were in Chemistry Class last week and happened to spill a strange concoction on yourself. You went into a coma and were - in all rights and purposes - dead for three days. It was yesterday that you started showing signs of recovery, and now you are fully conscious. Do you mean to say that you do not remember this?"

Harry was so frustrated he was almost ready to cry at the moment. "Professor," he said slowly, "you are a wizard and so am I. I am the Boy Who Lived because I survived the Killing Curse. McGonagall is the professor of Transfiguration, and Flitwick is the professor of Charms. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are my best friends. I have a scar on my forehead from surviving the Killing Curse."

Dumbledore definitely looked alarmed now, if he wasn't before. Tom merely picked at his nails in slight boredom, though he seemed to perk up at the mention of magic.

"Harry, I'm afraid you are wrong in that respect. Poppy!" he called. Madame Pomfrey bustled into the room swiftly, and immediately zoned in towards Harry.

"I'm afraid I cannot have you disturbing my patient, Professor," Madame Pomfrey stated firmly, gesturing in the universal hand movement for 'shoo'. Then, Harry knew all was right with the world.

"Mr. Potter may relapse at any moment. Stress is not beneficial to the body in any way."

"Madame," Dumbledore confided worriedly, "I believe Harry may have a moderate to high case of amnesia. He does not seem to remember anything of his past life."

"I do too!" Harry shouted hotly, his patience having simmered past the boiling point. "See!" he yelled triumphantly as he brandished his holly-and-phoenix feather wand from his tattered (how had it gotten that way?), torn robes.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he screamed, pointing his wand at a textbook lying on a table next to him. It didn't rise. It didn't even flop around uselessly like Neville's did sometimes.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he tried again, though less sure now. The book did not move.

"Incendio?" Nothing happened.

Madame Pomfrey, Tom, and Dumbledore stared at him with a mixture of pity, horror, worry, and _is-he-crazy-he-just-pointed-a-stick-at-a-book_.

Harry ran over to the nearest mirror at the end of the ward. He raised the bangs on his forehead, expecting to see the familiar lightning-bolt scar concealed underneath. A smooth, unblemished forehead greeted his perusing eyes.

Harry felt slightly dizzy and lightheaded, and he swayed dangerously before bracing himself against the wall.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes honest and sad.

"Keep him awake, Dumbledore," Madame Pomfrey barked, finally regaining her senses. "If he faints, he may not regain lucidity again!"

Tom merely mouthed, "What the hell?"

But Harry couldn't stay awake. The room was spinning weirdly and colors burst behind his eyes, fuzzing his vision. He couldn't tell which way was right, left, up, and down. Sapped of energy, he toppled over, head cracking against the cold marble floor.

The coppery, metallic smell of blood tainted the cold air, and Harry's last conscious thought was, _I really am going to die after all, aren't I?_

Nothing was real anymore.

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Please Read and Review! Hope you like it!

~Dreams of Disaster


	3. Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

'ello!

[Insert Disclaimer here]

Please R&R!

But above all, enjoy the story!

Thanks for making it here... um, yeah. That's it.

~Dreams of Disaster

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When Harry awoke the second time, he was in a different room and no one was inside with him. He raised his head, arms, and legs slowly, and encountered no obstacles like ropes or straitjackets. Harry counted himself quite lucky that he wasn't inside a padded room in a mental hospital at the moment. Maybe Dumbledore or the Death Eater impersonating him, Harry concluded, had finally seen the error of his ways and... what? Harry frowned. He didn't really know how to complete that sentence.

Beside his new bed, which was thankfully not white, Harry found his glasses and wand. Someone had thoughtfully placed them beside him, thinking that he might need to see something familiar in the midst of all this confusion. Harry was grateful to whoever it was.

After putting on his glasses, Harry could tell that there was something wrong with the room he was in. There were no windows and the bed and table were locked to the cement floor. Harry groaned. This was as restrictive as being confined in a padded room, though the concrete ground was certainly a stark contrast.

Then, he smiled. There was a door at the far end, and he sprinted towards it, and stopped suddenly. Someone had also taken the liberty to redress him, it seemed. He blushed, mortified, hoping that it was Madame Pomfrey. Shaking the embarrassment off, he recommenced running, and reached the door in five more seconds.

Unsurprisingly, it was locked.

"Alohomora!" he said, but then, his 'wand' arm drooped. He reached out to the door hopefully and twisted. No good. It was still locked.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. Where had his magic gone? It couldn't have just... vanished, could it? Was he a Squid, um Squib, now?

Harry's mind was full of images of the caretaker Filch. Did that mean he had to sweep Hogwarts? Would he have to be Filch's assistant (he shivered) or could he petition to be Hagrid's?

The door creaked open, and Dumbledore entered again, except he had some other people with him. They were all people Harry knew, to his relief.  
A frail old man, McGonagall, Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, a strangely dressed lady, Snape, and Tom (curiously) filed into the room. With both of them standing near each other, Harry noticed even more strongly the similarities between Head of House and student. Both of them were sneering, as usual, but Tom's sneer seemed to have less bite than usual.

"Hello, Harry, my boy," Dumbledore greeted jovially. "I believe I neglected to ask you if you wished to have a lemon drop during our first meeting, so to compensate, you may have two today."

Harry stared at the box of Muggle candy that was being held out to him, and quietly refused.

Undaunted, Dumbledore merely tucked the box into a pocket in his Muggle suit, which was the same as the one he had been wearing earlier. The other teachers merely stood stiffly near the wall, all with the exception of Sibyl Trelawney.

"Oh, my dear boy," she cried, hurrying over to Harry, bangles and assorted accessories jingling along the way. Harry recoiled instinctively, huddling in on himself, but thankfully, Trelawney did not wrap her bony arms around him.

"I am so sorry, my boy," she continued dreamily. "But I am afraid that you will die within the next year, very painfully, might I add." Her eyes sparkled with delight and she smiled widely. "Don't you love death predictions? They are always the most exciting to follow up on," she grinned maniacally.

Harry stared at the teacher with wide eyes. And they thought he was crazy?

"Don't mind Sibyl, Harry," Dumbledore interjected, glancing at his employee with little concern. "She is our resident statistics teacher. She is a little..."

_Loony? Nutters? Deranged? Mentally Impaired?_

"... zealous," Dumbledore ended diplomatically. "Now, we have decided that it is in your best interests as ward of the state to attend Hogwarts Secondary School for the time being. We will start with your teachers."

"Wait a second!" Harry interrupted. "You don't think I'm crazy anymore?"

"Why would we think you were 'crazy', Potter?" Snape drawled, looking down his nose at Harry. "After all, you just created an unidentified liquid in the Chemistry Lab, managed to spill it on your body after I explicitly warned everyone that the lab was hazardous, remained in a coma for a week, woke up and pointed a stick at a book while shouting terrible Latin, and then proceeded to faint, all in the course of only several days. And yet we say that you are sane and have a clean bill of health. The world is deteriorating daily."

Tom burst into snickers at that and didn't stop until McGonagall fixed him with one of her patented beady glares.

"Mr. Potter," she said stiffly, "we are here to decide your schedule. As you have... arrived in the middle of the first semester, you must catch up on work that you have missed. Some of your teachers may be willing to let you complete research projects or internships to make up the work over Winter Break. For others, you may take remedial classes after school. You will also select your electives today."

"But, I thought I was already here," Harry started and nearly withered under McGonagall's steely look, "I mean before I went into a coma." He watched McGonagall awkwardly once he was done but the teacher was already speaking.

"Yes, but you seem to be suffering from amnesia, so you have forgotten class lessons and material that we have covered. It will be best if you re-choose the classes that you wish to take and pursue them respectively. That way, your previous choices will not set you on a path you do not wish to tread."

The fact that the other-Harry was still missing, or possibly dead, was not mentioned.

Harry hesitantly nodded in understanding and McGonagall gave him a form to fill out.

"This is a form given to incoming or exchange students," she explained. "How old are you?"

"I turned eleven last July."

"So, you fill in that box over there."

Harry looked at the paper and McGonagall passed him an ink pen. Harry frowned again, and began to fill the paper out. Even though his handwriting was atrocious with a quill, there was something calming about being able to refill the ink and take breaks to think once in a while. The ink pen was too lightweight and convenient.

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First Name: Harry

Middle Name (Optional): James

Last Name: Potter

Month and Day of Birth: July 31st

Age: 11

Incoming Grade: 6

Address: N/A

Phone Number: N/A

E-mail Address: N/A

Classes

_6th Grade Level_

Science (Please select one.)

_**Chemistry**_

Physics

Biology

Mathematics (Please select one.)

PreAlgebra

Algebra

_**Algebra Honors**_

History (Please select one.)

World History

_**European History**_

U.K. History

_**English** _(required)

**_Physical Education_** (required)

_**Health** _(one semester required)

**_Computer Operations_** (one semester required)

Two or more of the following electives can be selected. Please indicate your choices:

-Introduction to Design

-Art I

-Ceramics I

-Calligraphy I

-Game Design I

-Parenting and Child Development

-Nursing and Health Care

-**_Environmental Science_**

-Digital Engineering I

-Introduction to Adobe Photoshop Editing and Movie Making

-Three Dimensional Modeling

-Cooking I

-Creative Writing

-Journalism

-Yearbook

-Application Creation I

-_**Agricultural Studies**_

-_**Spanish I**_

-Mandarin I

-French I

-Introduction to Linguistics

-_**Statistics**_

-_**Astronomy**_

Thank you for filling out this form and we hope to see you soon at Hogwarts Secondary School on September 1st.

Good Luck,

Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

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Harry handed back the form to Professor McGonagall who took it and held it carefully in her hands. Then began the long-awaited introductions. Harry gathered that...

-The frail old man was Professor Dippet, Hogwarts's Headmaster.

-McGonagall was the math teacher.

-Hagrid taught Environmental Science.

-Flitwick taught English.

-Sprout taught Agricultural Studies.

-Sinistra taught Astronomy.

-Trelawney was the Statistics teacher (as established before).

-Snape taught Science (also established before).

-Dumbledore taught Health and Computer Operations.

-A dull man by the name of Binns taught History.

-Madame Hooch, who was not present at the meeting, taught Physical Education.

After the blur of names and faces that swam past his vision, McGonagall informed Harry that he would receive his schedule the next week, when he would commence classes. In the meantime, she set down several thick textbooks related to the classes he had selected and urged him to "get ahead in his reading". She also provided him with "dinner" which consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a red apple, and a mug of orange juice.

"I know it's not much, but it will keep your stomach occupied until tomorrow," she said, before bustling out with the other teachers.

Dumbledore winked at his gaping, overwhelmed expression, and walked out along with them. The door closed and the telltale click of a lock was heard before footsteps padded away down a long hallway, getting less and less audible by the second.

Harry merely walked over to his bed and tucked himself in. He noted that he was beginning to smell - and not in a good way either. The good teachers should let him shower soon unless they wanted a stinky presence attending all of their classes the following week.

Exhausted, Harry sighed and surrendered to the seductive call of Morpheus. He slept well for the first time in years without his ever-tingling scar to disturb him.

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A/N: Harry's class choices are bold, italicized, and underlined, in case you were wondering.

Please Read and Review!

~Dreams of Disaster


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